


to be of use

by PeachyKit



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Boot Worship, Femdom, Humiliation, Oral, Other, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyKit/pseuds/PeachyKit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nisha/reader filth. What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be of use

On an average day, you spend most of your time eye-level with the Sheriff of Lynchwood’s boots, all leather and hard steel plating. You’ve grown familiar with them these past few weeks, from having the hard toes kicked against your ribs, from licking blood or dirt or anything she tells you to off the material. Such is the life of a living gift from one sadist to another – you should be grateful that you still have your life at all, everything considered.

At this particular moment, you’re on your hands and knees as Nisha reclines with her feet propped comfortably on your back. Comfortable for her, at least. Her heels are digging in to your bare skin, and at this point you barely even wince. She isn’t even doing anything in particular, other than relaxing while using your body for whatever purpose she wants (and said purpose could change at any time).  
Speaking of, before you can really finish that thought, the flat of Nisha’s boot presses against you, not quite as hard as a kick would be but with enough force to knock you over. You scramble to right yourself, but she keeps her foot there, firm in the fact that she wants you flat on the floor. “Hey,” she says, voice unnervingly casual as she grinds her heel against your tailbone and you’re caught between cringing away and whimpering – “Do something useful. Stop just sitting there.”

She slings her free leg over the arm of her chair and leans back, leaving her spread in front of you as she looks down expectantly. Despite the fact that she’s given the order she keeps her foot pressed against you, smirking as you squirm and struggle to get close enough to fulfill what’s being demanded of you. “What? You having trouble? C'mon. You’re really driving home how useless you are.”  
Your response leaves you whiplashed as you simultaneously cringe internally and feel yourself grow wet. That sort of thing shouldn’t surprise you at this point – you’ve learned that while her comments are scathing, they get at something inside you in a way nothing else quite does, leaving you an aroused and eager-to-please mess within a few insults. Shaking your head, you huff out a sigh and press your thighs together, hoping to provide yourself with the littlest of relief from the rapidly escalating need to be touched. “Miss Kadam,” you plead (and hope it earns you some favor, as you’ve also learned she enjoys being addressed as such), “please let me show you that I can be useful.”

Normally Nisha would draw this out, but she must be craving the physical aspect of things today, as that seems enough to satisfy her for now. She swings her other leg up onto the chair, but makes sure to knock the toes of her boot against the side of your cheek as she does. “Make it good.”

You wince but instantly scramble closer, propping yourself up on your knees to make quick work of first her belt, then the button of her pants. Luckily for you, beyond that it’s not difficult to get them down over her hips, down to her knees, then past her boots, which she usually elects to keep on. Once she’s free of them she drapes her legs over your shoulders, pulling you closer with the backs of her heels pressed against your shoulderblades. It doesn’t take you any more “encouragement” to get started; your teeth are already grazing against the skin of her inner thigh when she kicks at you again. “Cut it out with the soft shit,” she mutters, head lolling back against her seat. With that instruction, instead you bite hard, and she bucks her hips against your face, legs tightening against you. You alternate between each thigh, working your way up closer to the part of her wet and swollen lips.

It’s there you pause for just a moment, breath hot against her as you consider your situation. It’s not all too bad, taking out the factor of the daily risk of death. Nisha is an attractive woman, and here you are getting to please her. You lift one hand, glancing up to read her expression as you reach forward. She simply raises her eyebrows, and you take the risk of assuming that’s good enough permission, running the pad of your thumb against her slit. Nisha gets off well enough on kicking you around – this has been proven to you a few times over now with how little warmup is needed before she’s wet enough to slip a finger into. And that’s just what you do, angling your hand to carefully curl a finger into her, met with little resistance. The tip of your tongue laps at her exposed clit as you work that one finger in and out, gradually slipping in a second, and she honest-to-god squirms, hissing out a short breath between her teeth. “You might be good for something after all,” you hear her say under her breath, and you’re hit with a surge of pride that has you shuddering from head to toe.  
Nisha definitely takes notice. She nudges at your free arm with a foot, smirking.

“If you’re desperate enough to get off to this, go ahead, do it.”

You weren’t expecting anything like that, and you stop for a split second in sheer surprise, giving her an incredulous look. “Hurry up before I change my mind,” she follows up, and your other hand is between your own legs before she can make good on that threat, mirroring the movement of your other fingers into yourself. To compensate for this allowance you’ve been given, you’re desperate to make this even better for her. You twist your fingers and press them upward, knowing you’ve hit the right spot when you feel her jerk reflexively and swear. You press your lips over her clit and suck, whining against her as you struggle not to focus too much on your own pleasure, but it’s hard, so hard, when she’s letting you work yourself like this at the same time she’s writhing above you.

Her legs squeeze around your neck as your hand cramps with the intensity, and finally you feel her muscles tighten and pulsate around your fingers, soaking them. Your movements slow as you start to turn your focus towards finishing yourself , and barely a beat passes before Nisha smacks at the back of your head. “One doesn’t mean I’m done,” she growls out, and so you ease back into the rhythm in a rush, wanting to avoid her displeasure.

You opt to trade your fingers out for your mouth, shifting to rub circles at her clit with your thumb as you press flush against her, tongue as far as it can stretch inside of her. Your cheeks are wet and sticky from the press of her thighs against your face, and you’re sure you can feel yourself nearing your own release from tending to yourself in the background as you’ve been doing. Just a few more careful thrusts of your fingers and you’ll be able to come too, you’re sure –

Nisha tugs hard on your hair as she finishes for the second time, her legs stretching out and tensing as she shudders with the sensation. When her body relaxes again,she knocks your hand away from between your own legs. “If you want to finish, you’ve gotta do it like the pathetic bitch you are.” She stretches one bare leg out and heat rises to your face as you put two and two together. Are you desperate enough for release to do something like that? Of course you are. That’s not even a question.

Unable to meet Nisha’s eyes, you reposition yourself to press against her leg, your grinding movements slow with hesitation at first. You’re sure you’re blushing in all the places you’re able to, but your desire for relief overlays against the intense humiliation, pushing the rotation of your hips faster and faster, sliding your slickness against the smooth surface of her leg. You freeze up when you’re finally able to come, letting out a broken little whimper as it wracks your body. You end up slumped at Nisha’s feet, trying desperately to level your breathing.

“You’re cleaning your own mess.” Nisha indicates her leg and you shakily lean up to lick the remnants of your come off her leg, sinking back down as soon as she seems satisfied.

You feel oddly at peace when you curl up at Nisha’s feet, positioned more like a pet than furniture this time. Her feet end up on you anyway, of course, once she’s slid her pants back up and settled back into her chair.


End file.
